


bad decisions

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Series: got your bible, got your gun [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mafia & Gangsters, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Joseph Seed, Desk Sex, Dom/sub, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Oral Sex, Pegging, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Sub Joseph Seed, The Seed family is a cartel now, Yeah you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 22:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15672516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: There’s a lot of poor decisions being made.For one, Joseph is supposed to be in a meeting right now. It’s one of Jacob’s arms dealers from Romania, and though Jacob could run—and probably is running—the meeting himself, Joseph is usually expected to make an appearance, even if it’s just for a few minutes.For two, Joseph Seed is an internationally known cartel leader, star of a cult of personality. He’s dealt drugs, weapons, and every other kind of vice for at least two decades.For three, Dahlia has a work lunch in two hours that she can’t afford to miss. It’s been seven days since she last checked in with the editor and everybody wants to know how the Joseph Seed story is going.





	bad decisions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PomoneCorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomoneCorse/gifts).



> dahlia is not my character, she belongs to PomoneCorse, who so graciously let me take her beloved OCs and shove them into my AU sandboxes. 
> 
> this is a very sturdy desk, kids, joseph has a big furniture budget. i promise you that your ikea desk is not this sturdy, and firmly recommend against trying to fuck on it.

There’s a lot of poor decisions being made. 

For one, Joseph is supposed to be in a meeting right now. It’s one of Jacob’s arms dealers from Romania, and though Jacob could run—and probably is running—the meeting himself, Joseph is usually expected to make an appearance, even if it’s just for a few minutes. People don’t travel thousands of miles to meet with his brother, they travel thousands of miles to have an audience with  _ Joseph _ , like an old-time King holding court. He’ll have to come up a damn good excuse for this one. 

For two, Joseph Seed is an internationally known cartel leader, star of a cult of personality. He’s dealt drugs, weapons, and every other kind of vice for at least two decades. Cocaine’s where he built his empire, the guns are how he grew it, and his cult-like devotees are what keep it going. (That’s a good sentence, Dahlia should use that in her next piece.) 

For three, Dahlia has a work lunch in two hours that she can’t afford to miss. It’s been seven days since she last checked in with the editor and everybody wants to know how the Joseph Seed story is going. 

Neither her editors or Jacob’s Romanians probably want to know about this particular part of the story, though: Joseph’s lips wrapped around a cherry-red strap-on, saliva pooling at the base of the dildo as he tries to take it deeper, nearly gagging himself. The rings around his fingers glitter as he tightens his grip around the base, warm metal against Dahlia’s bare skin. 

He’s still fully-dressed: partially because he hasn’t earned the right to take off his clothes, and partially because this was supposed to be a quick meeting that  _ didn’t  _ end with him trying to deep-throat the shiny new strap-on he’d bought for her. She would have been content to have his mouth between her legs, face buried under her skirt, but Joseph has no sense of timing or decency.

Joseph frequently has “gifts” for her. Usually it’s bits and pieces of information, leads onf dead-end stories, but one time it was a damn rose gold Sig Sauer P938, pink-gold slide engraved with flourishes, and an unspoken promise that somebody would teach her to shoot. A few times after that it was a ticket to Mexico, a week in a whitewashed beach villa that she barely remembers because they spent most of it in the master suite on the California king bed. 

And today, for example, it was a black box with a shiny black leather harness and cherry-red dildo, which was less of a gift for Dahlia and more of a gift for Joseph, to himself. 

Joseph’s argument about taking it for a test spin could have been better, really, and Dahlia had said she’d only try it on, but Joseph made a show of pressing a kiss to the base of the strap-on and working his mouth down it, and Dahlia  _ technically  _ had an hour between now and when she needed to leave for her work lunch. 

When she finally sighed and leaned against his (tacky and glass-topped, she’d definitely have to include in the piece that Joseph Seed’s sense of interior design peaked in 1990) big desk, he’d pressed a grateful kiss to her bare thigh. 

Joseph looks good, like this. Face flushed and lips swollen as he fucks his own throat raw on her fake cock. Dahlia’s clit throbs when he finally pulls back, his expression dazed. Joseph likes it like this, turning his entire focus on to pleasing her, likes being told what to do and how to do it. 

Dahlia doesn’t have a power complex, but knowing you had one of the world’s most dangerous men kneeling at your feet and hanging onto your every world—it would be a headrush for anybody. “You want it?” she murmurs, fingertips brushing over his cheekbone, the stubbly starting point of his beard. 

He nods and leans into the touch, lips just barely parted. She wishes the toy offered her a little more than the indirect pressure on her clit, because Joseph looks good when he’s got his lips around the red silicone. “Please,” he rasps out. His hand lazily forms a fist over the toy, using the spit as lube to jerk it off like it was a real cock, rings shining in the low light of his office. 

Dahlia tilts her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “Have you earned it?” 

“Yes.” His forehead dips against her thigh, lips dragging over the bottom leather strap of the harness. “I was good.” Joseph’s rings clink together as he keeps working his hand over the toy, pace a little faster now. Like how he’d like to be touched right now, cock tenting his black jeans. 

It’d be easy to give in. 

Dahlia clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth instead, watching Joseph’s splotchy red face. He’d look good getting fucked on top of his own desk, wrecking the paperwork he’s got spread out there there. Would look good riding her in his ugly black leather desk chair, too, or fucking back on her toy on his hands and knees on the thick red rug. She rakes her fingernails across his scalp, just enough pressure to barely scrape, and watches as he closes his eyes, mouth dropping open a little. 

He  _ has  _ been good. 

“Over the desk,” she says at last, intentionally ignoring his victorious grin. Dahlia pulls a desk drawer open, one of the ones she’d seen him rifle through before.There: a container of plastic heavy-grade zip ties, because handcuffs got expensive to replace when people kept getting buried in them. “Takes your clothes off, hands behind your head.” 

Joseph obeys immediately, scrambling to strip down as fast as possible, leaving clothes that probably cost more than Dahlia made in a full year in a messy pile. He’s trembling when he presses his chest to the cool glass of his desk, hands obediently on the base of his neck. Dahlia doesn’t say anything, just watches him for a long second. He sits still and doesn’t squirm, cheek pressed to a pile of papers with John Seed’s law firm letterhead on them:  _ good boy.  _

She pushes his hand down in front of his head, zip-ties his wrists together with just enough loose space to slide her finger between the tie and his wrists, his fingers laced together like he’s praying. Joseph Seed is nothing if not proactive, to Dahlia’s constant frustration, and like he was planning to skip meeting the Romanians in favor of getting rawed in his office he meticulously included a brand new bottle of lube in the box with the strap-on. Dahlia savors his wince at the temperature difference between the cool lube and her fingertips, teasing at his rim.

Joseph makes a punched-out noise and pushes back on her finger, trying to take her deeper. “Shh,” she murmurs, tracing the fingers of her free hand over the black tattoo that takes up most of his back. There’s barely any resistance as she works more lube over her fingertips, crooking her finger to find his prostate. He was expecting this, or at least hoping for it, worked himself up on his own fingers earlier. The thought sends a little shudder down her spine, heat unfurling in her lower abdomen. “I thought you were good.” 

Joseph makes a movement that might have been a nod, if he’d been standing up. “I was, I was good.” He shivers as she works her middle finger alongside her index, easing her way inside. “I was good.” 

“You finger yourself earlier, lying in bed? Did you think about me? Hope you’d get fucked in your office like this?” Dahlia scratches an angry red line with the nails of her free hand down his back, watching his entire body tense as she stills her fingers inside of him, pressing against his prostate in tight circles. 

“Yes,” Joseph pants out. “Yes, I did. I did, I’m sorry, I was good.” It’s impossible to say that Joseph Seed would ever be desperate for someone else’s approval, but like this—naked and vulnerable, spread over his own desk, face flushed bright red— _ desperate  _ is the only word that Dahlia can think of for it. “I knew... You’d look good. Wanted you, like this.” He’s normally one of the most eloquent people that Dahlia knows, but sex always scrambles his mind, leaves him a little dazed. 

Dahlia shushes him again, listens to his whimper as she adds a third finger, fucking him more roughly now. She likes watching him like this, his body yielding to her, his cock hard and twitching, so she works her fingers in and out a few times just to watch. “Are you ready?” she asks, pulling her fingers free. 

“Yes.” Joseph squirms on the desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Dahlia spreads more lube over the dildo, steadying the toy at the base as she presses the head of it to his hole. It’s an easy slide in, the hip movements no longer as awkward for Dahlia as they were the first time he’d asked her to fuck him, a slow motion that leaves him making soft wordless noises against the desk. 

Joseph gets pliant when he’s fucked, submissive and needy in a way that Dahlia wishes she could write about, because proving that one of the world’s most dangerous men goes boneless when he’s getting pegged would be a best-selling exposé. 

The new toy doesn’t do much for her, just vague pressure on her clit as she grinds into him, but the sight is worth it anyway, watching his fingers flex together as he tries to work himself back onto the dildo. She shifts a little, until he starts making little fucked-out noises with every stroke, his leg muscles trembling.  

“Please,” Joseph finally mumbles as Dahlia yanks his hair free from the tie to tangle her fingers in it, pushing his face a little harder into the desk. “Please.” 

Dahlia runs her free hand over the edge of his hip and strokes her fingers over the sprinkling of hair that leads down from his navel to the base of his cock, feeling his cock twitch at even the possibility of being touched. He behaves, for once, no begging or pleading, so she rewards him accordingly, wrapping her hand over his cock loosely. Her fingers tighten in his hair as she grinds into him a little rougher, lets him fuck into her fist and back onto her toy until his face is flushed bright red and he’s panting, mouth open and eyes squeezed close. 

One stroke, two strokes, and Joseph is coming, dripping onto the sparkling black tile of his office floor. His body collapses like all the oxygen’s been sucked out of his lungs, wincing slightly as Dahlia pulls the toy out and unbuckles the harness from around her hips. Joseph rolls over slowly, easing himself upright with his elbows because his hands are still zip-tied and (surrendering that whatever papers had been on his desk were a lost cause) flopping so he could lay mostly on top of the desk, hands over his head. 

Dahlia doesn’t let him rest, just crawls on her knees over his desk until she’s settled with her thighs on either side of his face, spreading herself for him just enough for him to get the idea. He exhales, a tickle of hot breath before he obediently flicks his tongue over her clit. “Good,” Dahlia sighs. Joseph looked good spread out on the fake cock, but he looks equally good like this, hands squirming against the white plastic of the zip tie and eyes closed as he works his lips over her swollen clit. 

She comes quickly, fingers in his hair and holding him in place until she’s trembled out the last of her orgasm. Joseph looks dazed when Dahlia finally catches her breath enough to slide off his desk, leaving him a sprawled-out mess. 

Dahlia’s going to be late for her damn lunch, by at least twenty minutes—more if she can’t find where Joseph had set her panties and skirt down at. She tosses a glance back at him, naked and lying on his ruined paperwork, and decides he can break out of the zip-tie on his own. 

He made her late, after all. It’s the most fitting punishment she can think of. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://www.officialclaricestarling.tumblr.com/), because i love talking to/at people about things


End file.
